Watching
by Hermione'sDaughter
Summary: Hermione finds a newfound interest in the enigma that calls himself Blaise Zabini.


**Disclaimer: I unfortunately don't own any of this except for the plot line…**

 **Thanks to everyone who has given me inspiration for this! (You know who you are… ;D)  
A bigger thanks to my beta HogwartsApprentice ;D**

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Watching. Just, watching.

Hermione never thought of herself as the silent, brooding type. But somehow Blaise Zabini did _weird_ things to her.

The first time she noticed something was happening was when she stuttered while asking a question.

She, Hermione Granger, had actually stumbled over her words in class. Speaking to a Professor, no less.

After the mortifying moment was over she turned around to look at the back of the classroom, expecting to find smirks and rolled eyes coming from the sea of green ties.

She wasn't expecting to meet the surprisingly unjudging eyes of someone who had been staring.

Who? Blaise Zabini.

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The second time was when she realised that stereotyping all Slytherins was as bad as being derogatory towards Muggleborns.

Hermione usually prided herself on her tough skin, especially when it was chipped away at by Malfoy.

But this time it collapsed. Being called 'Mudblood' once too many had completely broken her down and she was sobbing in the rain on the Quidditch stands, any notion of time or place as far from her as home was.

She simply couldn't find the energy to pull out her wand and cast the Impervius charm. Honestly, she didn't want to. A bit of rain couldn't make her feel any worse.

She realised that she was wrong when the rain soaked her robes and the cold started to sink deep into her skin.

She felt, rather than heard, someone approach. Only after a warm cloak was dropped over her shoulders. Hermione wanted to look up and acknowledge the kindness, but at that moment, moving seemed too big of a task to tackle.

She didn't have to anyway. Strong arms lifted her up and she hardly processed her head being gently laid onto a warm shoulder.

As she was carried inside, she felt the cold start to release its icy embrace and became more aware of the person carrying her.

Warmth. And cinnamon?

She didn't question it.

Her eyelids drooped shut, not that she was paying any attention anyway. It wasn't hard to let herself drift off. She felt safe.

She woke up in the hospital wing. As Madame Pomfrey bustled over, Hermione's unasked question was answered with a small shake of her head.

But she didn't need to ask anyway. As she turned, she felt the soft material of robes crumple against her skin. Gently pulling it out from underneath her, she could faintly smell cinnamon. The green crest was the second thing that caught her attention, but she knew whose it was the moment her fingers brushed against something that felt different to the rest.

Initials, in silver, under the collar.

B.Z.

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She started to take more notice of this quiet Slytherin.

He wasn't egotistical, like Malfoy – overtly, at least. His brain capacity did not resemble Crabbe's or Goyle's and although he sat with Malfoy it seemed he conversed the most with Theodore Nott.

And taking her to the hospital wing? Carrying her? Giving her his cloak? She never expected a Slytherin to be like that.

Thinking about it, she still hadn't returned his robes. He seemed to have plenty, though, so she didn't worry _too_ much.

"Are you ok, 'Mione?"

The third time was when she was so sucked into her thoughts she didn't even correct Harry on the use of that god-awful nickname, and just waved her hand airily at him, pulling her eyes away from the Slytherin table.

That was when Harry realised something was up.

"Um, 'Mione? I've been meaning to ask. You've seemed a bit… distracted, lately."

"What do you mean Harry? I'm fine!"

"Calm down, I just noticed that you're not talking as much," Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion. And why are you looking over there?"

Hermione felt her heart rate rise but fought to keep an innocent look on her face. "Just glaring at Malfoy, Harry."

The look on Harry's face gave away that he didn't really believe her, but he didn't push it, and resumed eating after shooting a warning look over to the Slytherins.

Hermione tried to stop looking. She really tried, but she couldn't stop her eyes from constantly flicking up to the table in front of her. However, the last time she looked up she couldn't look down. Dark eyes captured hers and she felt her stomach flutter without warning.

Seconds, maybe minutes passed. Hermione wasn't sure. That night in bed she was still thinking about it. But by then she had thought about it so much she wasn't sure if her mind had made it up or if it really happened.

She realised that her thoughts had been consumed. Her mind, infiltrated. She hadn't thought about a boy – hell, she hadn't thought about _anyone_ this much before.

Her first thought was to go to the library, and even though it was in the middle of the night her curiosity reigned over logical thought. Luckily, a deep slumber embraced her long before she could finish planning.

When Lavender Brown awoke in the night, she just shook her head at weird murmurs coming from a sleeping Hermione about an 'invisibility cloak', 'ask Harry' and 'research' and proceeded to the bathroom.

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The fourth time was when she had given up trying to find anything in the Library.

The only time her beloved books had betrayed her! And she'd turned up practically half of the shelves looking for it.

The closest thing she could find was a compulsion charm, and funnily enough, love potions. Therefore, her plan of action was antidotes to the generalised potions, and examining spells. Madame Pince didn't give her _too_ much of a suspicious look when she took out a pile of healing books.

Madame Pomfrey was harder to get by when she asked for a crushed bezoar potion. Hermione's usually quick wit failed her, as she could not come up with an excuse for needing the expensive ingredient.

Hermione soon realised that unless she was very sick, Madame Pomfrey was _not_ going to give her any much-needed bezoar.

There was only one thing she could do.

There was only one other place she could take a very small amount of bezoar from the castle. Well, two, but she _definitely_ wasn't going up into Divination ever again. She'd sworn that to herself third year.

There was no time to carefully hatch a plan, and she had to run to potions class anyway.

Whilst gathering ingredients, she spied her chance. But looking up, the crushed bezoar was far too high up to reach, and she'd stupidly left her wand behind in her bag.

She was so ingrained in trying to figure out a subtle way to grab the jar, she didn't hear someone else entering the storeroom.

"Need some help?" his teasing tone certainly wasn't rude.

Hermione hesitated. This was her chance, but… the person behind her could easily tell Professor Snape. She decided it was worth the risk.

"Actually, yes please," she said without turning around. "I can't reach the crushed bezoar."

A soft, deep chuckle came from behind her. A spell muttered and the jar came gently floating into her hands.

"I won't squeal to Snape. You owe me one, though."

Hermione turned around to see the back of Blaise Zabini's robes flutter behind him.

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Moaning Myrtle, Hermione thought, had started to take a liking to her. This was the third time she'd used the ghost's bathroom to make illicit potions. Well, not exactly _illicit_ (this time at least…), just perhaps not of the school curriculum.

Myrtle said something that caught Hermione's attention on the third day of brewing.

"Did you know, Hermione," Myrtle broke down in giggles, "that if I go down the u-bend near the kitchens I can spy on the Slytherin common room?"

Hermione wasn't paying attention at first, and let out a "hmm?" by impulse. She was used to these one-sided conversations with Harry and Ron.

Myrtle didn't seem to notice Hermione's lack of engagement and continued on.  
"And last night I heard something about _you_ , Hermione!"

This made her look up curiously, but soon realising it was the Slytherins' they were talking about and it was likely to be rude about her she looked down.

"Myrtle, it's okay. You don't have to tell me what they've said, I hear it to my face all the time-"

"Oh, no, it wasn't _mean,"_ Myrtle interrupted her. "It was actually the opposite!"

Hermione slowly looked at Myrtle. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh… just the fact that I heard this one boy teasing his friend about you…"

Myrtle was enjoying this.

"Do you know who? What were they saying?"

"Wow, calm down, I'm _getting there!_ From what I heard, the one talking was called Theo and the other one was Bla-, Breese-,

"Blaise?"

"That's the one!" Myrtle giggled for the millionth time. "I think he _likeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees_ you!"

Hermione's heart gave a flutter before her logical mind quickly clamped down on the rogue thought. This was a _ghost_ she was talking to, after all. Not to mention, a ghost stuck in a hormonal, teenage form _forever_.

She decided not to bring that up when she said "how are you sure, Myrtle?"

She looked mildly offended. "You're just going to have to take my word for it, aren't you Hermione?" she replied coyly.

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 **Hiya guys! So this is the one I've been working on…**

 **I'm sorry I haven't updated The Curse of Attraction, for those of you on author alert! I will attempt to write a new chapter soon. School has just come back, and therefore, I have time to procrastinate and write fanfiction instead of homework.**

 **I have ideas for the next chapter but am unsure right now whether to leave it as a two-shot. We'll see when we get there, mkay?**

 **Love y'all! I would love it if you could tell me what you think!**

 **Hope you enjoy...**

 **Hermione's Daughter**


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